Insanity
by rockyshores
Summary: Inspired by the 'Sevemteen Ain't So Sweet' outtake.


There's a fine line between genius and insanity, apparently, and right now Maura is unsure of which side of the line she sits on. She must have crossed it, she decides, as she lies staring up at the ceiling through the three am darkness, because no genius would ever have chosen this. The sleeping body in bed beside her shifts against her side and pulls the sheet from covering her upper body. Exposed, a chill runs through her, but she makes no effort to cover herself. She just keeps staring, watching streaks of light occasionally flit across the white paint work as cars pass along the street outside. Eventually, though, sleep consumes her once more.

Seven am she is awoken again by the body beside her. Unintentionally, she discovers, when she opens her eyes to find her companion pulling the sheet back over her to allow her some modesty. Her sleepy smile is returned with a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Go back to sleep, Maur," she is told, and is kissed again. Her lips this time, and as her eyes close she is reminded of last night's events.

* * *

A few too many of Jane's beloved beers has Maura giggling like a school girl. She goes to the refrigerator and pulls out two more bottles of beer, chuckling to herself for thinking earlier that she might have found buttermilk in here.

"What are you sniggering at?" Jane askes from the couch as Maura returns and hands her a bottle.

"Buttermilk," she states matter-of-factly as she flops back onto the cushions.

"The only thing buttermilk about my kitchen is pancakes," she is told, "but they're usually in my belly, not my refrigerator." She takes a sip of her beer, then shift awkwardly, tugging at the hem of her dress. "This thing sucks".

Maura's eyes falls to where the hem lies, far too high up Jane's thing to be appropriate. Her eyes linger far too long and she is caught.

"Excuse me, Dr Isles, but your own ass is also almost on show," Jane tells her with a smirk.

"Shut up, Rizzoli."

Maura moves, and tucks her leg underneath her, her dress riding up further. But she doesn't care. It's keeping Jane entertained.

"Why do you think Giovanni's so convinced we're together?" Jane askes, stretching her legs out across the sofa, her feet landing in Maura's lap. Her black dress is now covering even less, and Maura puts her free hand across Jane's ankles.

"Well, we did tell him that," she replies and takes a swig of beer, "and we just told him tonight that we are still together, so that might have given him the idea."

"Alright, wise-ass."

"Well, you asked. And I also happen to think that one might assume things if one were to see us like this."

Jane laughs. "Oh, _one_ might, might one?"

"I believe you are making fun of me," Maura sniffs in mock upset, and in their slightly tipsy state her acting is enough to fool Jane into thinking it's genuine. She laughs when Jane sits up in panic, and earns herself a playful poke in the bicep. "Why must you always get me drunk, Jane?"

"Excuse _me_! You were the one who got the beer. You opened the. You drank it. All I did was laugh and watch your dress rise up and check out your ass." Jane swigs her beer to avoid eye contact, having aired the admission that she had, in fact, been checking out her best friend's ass.

"Why are you wearing red pants under a black dress?" Maura's eyes drop briefly. Jane could easily cross her legs to avoid further exposure. But she doesn't. Instead, Jane runs her index finger lightly up Maura's outer thigh to the hem of her dress. Only then does Maura notice how close they are, how close her face is to Jane's, how Jane's lips are getting ever closer to her own.

Maura closes that gap, and the kiss is gentle, tender, non-committal. But Maura's committing, and Jane's hands are in her hair, up and down her back, holding her waist as their tongues battle for dominance somewhere between their mouths.

* * *

Maura is unsure of how she ended up naked in her best friend's bed. Being stripped of her clothes is a blur, but the thrill of the contact with Jane's bare skin is still so fresh in her mind. Jane seems to want to kiss every inch of her body. She's not complaining. Her lips feel searing hot against Maura's skin, and her breath catches in her throat as Jane presses tender kisses to her breasts. She tangles one hand in Jane's hair, and Jane's mouth returns to hers.

She's never felt so exposed in her life. Never before has sex felt so… what's the word? She' can't think of one. Jane's kisses, caresses, leave her feeling vulnerable, but the dark eyes of the woman above her assure her that this is safe, that she can trust her.

Jane's moved from straddling her hips to straddling her thigh, and has pushed Maura's legs apart. Her long fingers gently stroke the pale skin of Maura's upper thighs. Maura's hips rock up to find contact and Jane pushes her own hips down to meet her. It soon becomes rhythmic, and Jane's fingers find Maura's heat, wet and ready. Maura's mouth finds Jane's neck, kissing, nipping, and it doesn't take long before she's panting into Jane's ear, whispering expletives, grasping at the sheets, at Jane's back, for anything to cling to as her hips meet Jane's harder, crying out as she finds release around Jane's hand.

* * *

It's awkward. She feels like she shouldn't be here. She knows she shouldn't be here. And it's apparent that many lines have most definitely been crossed. The effects of the alcohol have long since passed, and yet she and her impeding hangover are still in Jane's bed. Still naked. Still pressed against her best friend, kissing her, exploring recently discovered skin. Fuck it, she decides as her fingers dig into Jane's hips. Her tongue dips skilfully into Jane's wetness. I can take the awkwardness to be able to taste this, she reasons.


End file.
